The Maze

by Catherine Coulter

  “I don’t think so, Marlin. I do find your claim hard to believe. No one reported seeing any of the women in San Francisco with you. No one saw you with Hillary here in Boston. Why do you think that’s so?”

  “I knew I had to be careful. After Denver, I was real cautious, not that I could do everything I wanted to there. Only two women and then it was just too dangerous. I’d been seen with both women. I had to leave. God saved me there, but he told me I had to be smarter and so I was in San Francisco. The women all loved the mystery, the secrets I shared with them, the dark little places I took them to. They all loved how I smelled, you know, like fresh-cut wood, real fresh. They all thought I was dangerous and wonderful. With two of them I didn’t even have to hit them on the head. I just asked if they wanted to play the maze game with me, and they couldn’t wait. They both loved it. Until the end. Until I told them what I had to do. I think they forgot I was a good lover then.”

  “Marlin, shut the fuck up!”

  26

  SHE WONDERED what would happen if she threw up on the Formica table. Would anyone even know?

  “But not Belinda? She wouldn’t sleep with you, would she, Marlin? She thought you were sick. She thought you were disgusting. She didn’t want to have anything to do with you. She just wanted her husband, nobody else, just her husband.”

  His hands were fists. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The sergeant was away from the wall in an instant, his gun up.

  Lacey just shook her head. “You know what I’m talking about. God wouldn’t want you to lie. Just tell the truth. Belinda didn’t want you. She probably laughed at you, told you you were pathetic. That’s why you ki—purified her, isn’t it? She didn’t want you, plain and simple. She didn’t curse. She didn’t bad-mouth her husband. She didn’t fit the mold of all the other women. You know she didn’t. Why, Marlin, why did you kill her?”

  “This is over,” said Big John, rising slowly from his chair, one beefy hand on Marlin’s shoulder. “Don’t say anything, Marlin, nothing more for these folks.”

  “What makes you believe I didn’t have Belinda?” Marlin said in a low whisper, leaning toward Lacey. “You really think a woman could laugh at me? Turn me down? No way, Marty. Yeah, I had Belinda. I don’t want you, Marty. You’re cynical. You probably hate men, you probably don’t ever—”

  “Marlin, dammit, let it go. Listen, you moron. I told you to shut the fuck up.”

  It took just an instant of time, just the barest instant, for the violence to erupt. Marlin raised his chained hands, clasped them together into fists and brought them down with all his strength on John Bullock’s left temple. Big John groaned very softly in his throat and slumped back into his chair, his head falling forward to hit the Formica tabletop. He was out. A trickle of blood snaked out of his right nostril.

  The sergeant was all over Marlin. The door burst open again, and three cops surged in. She wondered why they didn’t just shoot him. It would save the taxpayers millions of dollars. But they didn’t shoot him. She wanted to yell at them that he was filth, that he’d probably go to an institution and maybe get out in twenty years and begin it all again. She managed to keep her rage to herself.

  “They’d send me to jail for sure if I did,” Dillon said close to her ear. “Sorry but I can’t, Sherlock.” It was then she realized that she’d just whispered what she was thinking. Only Dillon had heard her, thank God. No one was paying any attention to her at all. They were all over Marlin, dragging him out of the room. She heard someone yell out, “Get a goddamn ambulance in here! The guy cracked his own lawyer’s head!”

  Marlin turned very slightly and smiled back at her. “She was good, Marty, really good. That punk husband of hers was a monster, not me. I cared about them, cared about their souls. But he was real bad. She wanted me, Marty, not the other way around, I swear. You know something? I miss Belinda.”

  And then he was gone, surrounded by cops, shuffling forward, the leg shackles clanking against the linoleum of the hallway.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Savich said, his hand tightly around her wrist.

  “Nothing makes any sense, nothing.” They walked out of the station. She remained silent for three blocks, then stopped and said, “He was playing with me, Dillon. The minute I said Belinda’s name, he began his game. You heard all those questions I asked. I was just trying to learn the truth, but now things are muddier than ever.”

  “That’s why Big John let you go on and on with Marlin with just a bit of his famous bluster. He wanted to muddy the waters.”

  “He succeeded. Do you think Marlin was intimate with Belinda?”

  Savich frowned at her, then shook his head.

  That evening, on Newbury Street, coming out of Fien Nang Mandarin Restaurant with its red paper lanterns swinging in the evening breeze, Savich was speaking to Sherlock, his hand raised to flag down a taxi. He never saw the car that came around the corner, skidding loudly on two tires, heading right toward them, until it was too late.

  He threw her to the sidewalk just before the car struck him, flinging him onto the hood of an old Buick Riviera.

  “No doctor, Sherlock. No hospital, no paramedics. Forget it. We can’t afford the time. No, it’s just not the time. Just imagine the police reports, the investigation, the questions, it would take too long. No doctor.”

  He was right, but she worried. He was holding his arm, limping slightly. She knew every step hurt him. The elevator door opened onto their floor. He leaned on her heavily. “No, don’t say anything. I’m all right. I’ve had enough injuries over my thirty-four years to know when it’s serious and when I’m just banged up. You promise me you’re okay? I threw you pretty hard.”

  “I’m just a little bruised on my left side, nothing more.”

  She unlocked the hotel room door. “If I’d been the one struck by the car, what would you have done?”

  He stopped in the middle of the room. He had the audacity to grin at her. “You’d be strapped to a gurney on your way to the Emergency Room.”

  She shut the door very quietly and locked it. She slid the chain home.

  “I see. But you, the big he-man, can take anything anybody dishes out.”

  “Yep, that’s about the size of it. Now, I need to make a phone call.”

  She got ice and wrapped it in a towel. He was on the phone when she handed it to him. He lifted his shirt and pressed it against his ribs. So, it was his ribs, not his arm.

  “Quinlan? I need your help. Yeah, some ugly-ass trouble here in Boston. Can Sherlock and I visit your parents’ cabin on Louise Lynn Lake for a couple of days? No, I’m just not at my best at the moment. A car got me, but I just need a few days to get myself together again. No, nothing to Maitland. He’s not expecting anything in any case. That gives me a little leeway. Yeah, all right.”

  He hung up the phone and lay back, closing his eyes. “That feels good. Thank you.”

  “Take the aspirin.” She handed him three pills and a glass of water. He took the pills. “What’s this cabin on Louise Lynn Lake?”

  “It’s a nice lake in Maryland where Quinlan’s parents have a small home. You and I are driving there tomorrow. Rent us a nice big comfortable car, Sherlock. I’d like to get out of here early tomorrow morning.”

  “The wounded animal going to his lair?”

  “That’s about it. Quinlan’s lair. I need to get one for myself. Damn, that hurts, but it’s not serious.” He opened his eyes and looked at her standing beside the bed, her legs spread, her hands on her hips. She didn’t look happy.

  “You look pretty bad. I saw you limping. You sprain your ankle?”

  He tried to grin at her, but it hurt. “Just a minor sprain. No big deal. Hey, I didn’t hurt my pretty face, did I?”

  “Yes, a bit. Just lie there and I’ll clean you up. Are all your teeth still in there?”

  “Teeth are fine.” He watched her walk to the bathroom. She was stiff, holding on to her control. He
was grateful for that. He’d already had a strip taken off him. He didn’t need her to take off another one. He heard the water running. She would bring him a cold compress for his aching head. The ice sure felt good over his ribs.

  She was taking this well. He sighed with relief and closed his eyes again. After she cleaned off his face and wrapped ice in a towel around his ankle, she just stood there, looking down at him. “I hope you know what you’re doing. If you don’t, I’m going to hurt you.”

  He gave her a big smile. He slept until two o’clock in the morning. She was there with three more aspirin.

  At six o’clock A.M. they’d checked out of the hotel and were on the road fifteen minutes later in a good-sized Ford. Savich’s seat was tilted back as far as it would go. His eyes were closed. He looked bruised, wrung out. Lacey gave him a long look before turning off onto I-95 South. It would take them a good six to eight hours to get to Maryland. At least they had a full bottle of aspirin and blankets.

  Louise Lynn Lake was in southern Maryland. It took them nine hours to get there. Lacey was so wired from all the coffee she’d drunk, she couldn’t keep still. She was tapping her foot on the accelerator, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. She was too nervous to listen to music or talk radio. “You’re feeling all right, Dillon? You promise?”

  “Yes. Stop worrying. You want me to drive?”

  She gave him a look. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. Thirty minutes later, he was tapping his own fingers and looking for landmarks. He said, “Turn here. Yes, this is it. Just around this bend. We’re here. You did really well, Sherlock. Nice place, huh?”

  “There’s someone already here,” she said. “Damn, we’ll just have to keep going. I don’t want to take any chances, not with you in such bad shape. If there’s more than two of them, I might not be able to protect you.”

  He arched a black eyebrow at that. “I could maybe take on one, Sherlock, if he was a little guy.”

  “No, we’ll keep going. I’ll drop you off at a motel and then come back and check things out.”

  “No, wait, Sherlock, it’s Quinlan.”

  She watched James Quinlan come loping toward the car. She rolled down the window, giving him a big smile.

  “Thank God it’s you. We’ve had enough bad guys for a while.”

  “Nope, I’m a hero, just ask my wife. Hey, Savich looks like he lost the fight, Sherlock. Did he get fresh with you? Did you have to pound him?”

  “No, he was hit by a car. I’ll smash him when he’s feeling better. No doctors. He’s a fool. Help me get him inside.”

  Sally Quinlan met them at the door. Behind her was a black man dressed all in Calvin Klein. He was huge, ugly as sin, and had a Marine haircut.

  “Oh, this is Marvin, the bouncer from Ms. Lily’s Bonhomie Club. He didn’t think James could take care of all the possible trouble and insisted on coming. Marvin, this is Lacey Sherlock.”

  “She a nice chicky?”

  “I think so.”

  “She’s got a weird name.”

  “Lacey isn’t at all weird.” Where had the attempt at humor come from?

  “Hey, maybe you’re not a bad chicky after all. Oh my God. You’re looking beyond ripe, Savich. Ms. Lily wondered if you and Quinlan were tough enough to do this stuff.” Marvin was out the door in that moment, racing down the porch steps. Lacey saw him, a giant of a man, help Dillon into the weathered porched house.

  “You do look like dirt-shit, boy,” Marvin told Savich as he laid him down on the long sofa. “Don’t you move now. Let Marvin check out those ribs of yours. Good thing I had nine brothers. I’ve bandaged some ribs in my day. But you know, I don’t bandage anymore. I’ve stayed up with medical strides. Nope, don’t do anything now except to tell you to take it easy. They’re not broken, Savich, but you sure got some cracks in there. My third brother, Tomalas, now that boy had broken ribs. We used to tell him jokes just to see him laugh and groan at the same time.”

  Savich’s eyes were closed. He didn’t say a word, just listened quietly to Marvin’s rich, low voice drawling out his words until you thought the sentence would never end. He suffered Marvin, who appeared to be surprisingly gentle, his big black hands moving slowly and expertly over Savich’s chest.

  “Nothing’s broken, Marvin. I’m just bruised, that’s all. I’m glad you’re here. Is Ms. Lily all right?”

  “Ms. Lily is always all right. She won five hundred dollars last night in a poker game off this black smart-ass goon from Cleveland. Yeah, she’s real happy. You look like Ms. Lily got pissed at you and smacked you but good. She smacked me once and I was laid out just like you are now. Took me damned near three days to pull myself together again.”

  “Ms. Lily owns the Bonhomie Club,” Sally said to Lacey. “I’ve got a painkiller for him, Marvin. What do you think?”

  Savich said without opening his eyes, “Sally, give me whatever you’ve got and I’ll kill dragons for you.”

  “My hero,” Sally Quinlan said and disappeared into the small kitchen.

  “Don’t be so loose with that,” Quinlan called after her. “I’m your main hero, remember?”

  Lacey watched Marvin’s big hands move over Savich’s body, pulling slightly here and there, kneading, pressing. Finally, he rose, crossed his arms over his chest, and said, “You’ll live, boy, but I don’t like this at all. You and Quinlan, you two shouldn’t have such dangerous day jobs. You boys are just too soft, too trusting. There are lots of mean fuckers out there. I should know, I bounce them out of the club nearly every night.”

  “It was a brown Ford Taurus, license number 429JRD, a 1994, I think.”

  Savich opened his eyes at that. “You sure, Sherlock? All I got was the RD. Hey, that’s really good. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “You jerk, I was worried about you.”

  “I’ll run it now,” Quinlan said and went to the phone. Sally returned with a pill and a glass of water.

  Ten minutes later, Savich’s eyes were shut. Sally covered him with a blanket. Marvin took off his shoes.

  “He’s got nice feet,” Sally said.

  “What he’s got is big feet,” Marvin said. “Look at these suckers, Chicky, they’re size twelve.”

  Both women looked up. Marvin looked from one to the other. “Well, ain’t this a kick? I’ve never had this problem before.”

  Sally said to Lacey, “Marvin calls every female Chicky, except for Ms. Lily of course. How about your mother, Marvin?”

  “She’s the Big Chicky. Nobody screws with the Big Chicky, even my dad. You can go to Sally now, but she’s still Chicky.”

  “I don’t mind at all.”

  “Chicky Savich,” Dillon said slowly, relishing the sound. “Talk about strange. I don’t know if I can deal with that. But you know, it’s not as bad as Chicky Sherlock.”

  “We thought you were asleep. How do you feel, Dillon?” Lacey leaned over him, her fingertips lightly flaring through his dark eyebrows, lightly touching the bruise on his cheek.

  “Alive.”

  “Yes, that’s good. You’re kind of out of it, aren’t you, Dillon?”

  “No, not at all. I hurt enough still to keep me out of the ether.”

  “You don’t know what you just said, do you?”

  “Yeah, I know what I just said. It does sound strange, don’t you agree?”

  “I think,” Lacey said very slowly, staring down at the man who’d become more important to her than anything or anyone in her life, “that I could get used to it, until Marvin gets to know me well enough to call me Sherlock.”

  “Good,” Savich said. “I hadn’t really meant to bring it up here, at this particular moment. It lacks suavity and timing. It just came out of my mouth. How about I try it again later, when three people aren’t staring at us?”

  “Yes, I think that would be an excellent idea.”

  His head fell to the side. He was out cold this time.

  “Chicky Sherlock Savich,” Marvin s
aid slowly. “Yeah, that’s so funny it would make Fuzz’s mouth split from laughing so hard.”

  “I prefer Sherlock Savich,” Sally said. “That’s unforgettable. With a name like that just maybe they’d make you director one day.”

  Some minutes later, Quinlan said from across the room as he placed the phone back in its cradle, “The car was rented to a Marlin Jones. Paid for in cash, but he presented them with a credit card with his name on it, and a driver’s license.”

  “I don’t like this,” Lacey said, her face washed of color. “I really don’t like this at all. But wait, the picture couldn’t have matched, could it?”

  James Quinlan said, “The guy said the picture was real fuzzy, but since the name was the same, the guy’s age was about right, what the hell? So who knows?”

  “Jones. Marlin Jones? Hey, that’s the serial killer, isn’t it?” Marvin the Bouncer asked as he set an old issue of the Economist magazine back down on the coffee table. “I thought he was in the can, in Boston.”

  “He is,” Lacey said. “I spoke to him yesterday. He’s in the can, probably in maximum security. He brought his fists down on his lawyer’s temple. Knocked him out cold. Actually, as we were driving here, the news said that the first thing Big John Bullock said when he regained consciousness was, ‘I’m going to get that little bastard off so I can kill him.’ Then he passed out again. The doctors think it’s a concussion.”

  “The guy’s a real comedian,” Quinlan said.

  “I don’t think he was concussed,” Lacey said. “I know Big John meant every word.”

  “I was hoping it would be one less lawyer,” Sally said from the kitchen. “James, come out and help me. Everyone needs to have some dinner. It’s nearly five o’clock.”

  “I’ll go catch us some bass,” Marvin said. “Where’s the rods, Quinlan?”

  “Why’d the guy hit his lawyer?” Sally asked Lacey, looking up from the carrot she was alternately cutting and eating.

  “He told him to shut the fuck up because he’d admitted to me that he’d killed the women in San Francisco. Marlin went nuts. Evidently he doesn’t like bad language from men either. I wish the cops had just shot him then and there.” She sighed, her hands clasped between her knees. She rose slowly. “I guess I’d better call Jimmy Maitland. I’m afraid that he’s going to be really upset about this.”